Scott
groggily dragged himself from the comfort of the bottom bunk of the
bunk bed he shared with his younger brother and looked towards the
window. He sighed as the darkness outside confirmed what he already
knew to be true. It was way too early for him to want to be out of
bed. He grudgingly pulled on his uniform pants and felt his way
around his waist as he threaded his leather belt through the belt
loops. He pulled a t-shirt over his head and tossed a uniform shirt
across his shoulders without bothering with the buttons. It seemed
that one button was all he could handle at the moment. He stumbled
down the stairs, allowing his right shoulder to rub the wall of the
stairwell until he got closer to the bottom where the horse hair
plaster had fallen away, leaving slatted voids in the old papered
walls.
When he
reached the bottom of the stairs, he felt around until he found the
doorknob. He pressed a little lever on the side of the knob stem,
disengaging the latch before pushing the door open against a spring
at the top of the door. (The doorknobs in the farmhouse did not turn.
Instead they had small levers that worked the latching mechanism. The
stairway door sometimes had a spring at the top of the door. Depending on the season, Dale preferred that
the door to the upstairs be closed at all times because the house was
drafty and it was hard to keep the first level of the home warm when
all the heat rose to the second level by way of the stairwell.)
Scott
trudged past his father and siblings, who had all managed to get up
and get their coffee with considerably less difficulty, and made a
beeline for the twenty cup percolator coffee pot. He reached into the
cupboard and grasped the first porcelain handle he could find. He
turned the coffee mug right side up (because the mugs were all stored
in the cupboard upside down and it was imperative that the mug be
turned right side up before any attempt to fill it was made) and held
it under the spout of the coffee pot. Once it was filled, he added a
little cream from the top of a gallon of farm-fresh unpasteurized
unfiltered whole milk bringing the level of medium brown liquid just
a little too close to the brim of the mug. Leaving the mug on the
counter, the fourteen-year-old leaned forward and noisily slurped
enough of the hot liquid to allow for safe transportation of the
beverage to the parlor.
Scott
made his way through the darkness to a large overstuffed easy chair
with a matching ottoman. He backed into the cushions, being careful
to keep his mug level as he sat down. He rested the mug of coffee on
the right arm of the chair, all the while maintaining his grip on the
handle. He glanced at the inside of his left wrist where the face of
his watch rested and concluded that he had just over thirty minutes
before he would be required to move again. Against his better
judgment, (if that is a thing that a fourteen-year-old might possess)
he closed his eyes and allowed himself to drift away from the morning
once again.
Scott
made his way up to the Yankee barn and pulled one of the push mowers
from the building. He bent down to check the gas and stood up to find
himself at the lube shack without any recollection of how he had
arrived at that location. He looked into the small building and,
though he did not recognized the interior, was able to find what he
sought with considerable ease. He reached into the small building
where the family stored all of their gas cans, funnels, and oil
receptacles and pulled an orange three gallon gas can from it's spot
on the elevated floor of the shack. He filled up the tank of the lawn
mower and returned the can to the shed. He turned back to the lawn
mower and realized that he was standing between the summer house and
the farmhouse. He had no idea how he had arrived at that location
from his last, but thought nothing of it. He bent down and pushed the
red bubble button that primed the engine of the mower, taking special pleasure in the faint sound of the fuel
rushing into the carburetor. He stood up and reached out in front of
him where the push bar of the machine materialized within the palms of
his hands. He reached for the pull starter rope of the mower and gave
it an energetic tug...
Scott
bolted upright in the easy chair as a shower of hot coffee rained
down upon his head and splashed violently across his torso. His eyes
were wide with surprise and embarrassment. He brought the mostly
empty mug to his lips and quickly swallowed the remaining liquid
before pushing himself to his feet. He walked into the living room
and made an immediate left turn to the stairway door. His father
watched his second son reach for the door knob.
“What
happened to you?” he asked with his tired voice thick with
confusion. “Why are you wearing your coffee?”
“I
was trying to start the lawn mower,” Scott replied with equal
confusion. “And I forgot to set my coffee down?”
Dale
chuckled as his sodden teenager continued up the stairs without
elaborating. Scott returned a few minutes later with a fresh shirt.
He poured himself another cup of coffee which he consumed with
considerably more success at the kitchen table. The rest of the
morning went by without incident. However, when the young man told
the story of the morning's unfortunate events to his cousin's
boyfriend, Joe only had one question.
“So,”
he began with a mischievous smile on his face. “Did the mower start
on the first try?”
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